


spit in the all-seeing eye

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: in the shadows [2]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Game), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, Orcs Are People, The Relationships aren't as prominent in this part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: “We know what you’re doin’.  Fighting Sauron, taking his armies.  Doing a pretty good job of it too.  Still say you’re fucked and so are the rest of the idiots with ya…  But looks like we’re throwin’ our lot in, too.  We’re gonna go out either way, yah?  Might as well fuck up that one-eyed bastard’s shit before we go."Before he even knew it, Talion had an army.(In which the orcs join Talion of their own free will; set in Shadow of Mordor.)





	spit in the all-seeing eye

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt to explain how Talion gets an army of orcs without the whole creepy "imma take over your brain" thing. Orcs in this universe are actually fleshed out people with cultures and shit. Take that Tolkien.
> 
> This is mostly set up for later fics and stories that will build upon Talion's relationships with his orcs.

The first time Magrud saw the Gravewalker, was her first day out of Lugburz. 

She was a tailor by trade, who dabbled in some metalcraft as most of her race did.  But she was untried, young, and an easy target for other orcs.  It made her wary.  Which was why she noticed first that something was wrong, that day in camp near the Black Road, when the birds went strangely still, and the music that had been coming from across the camp went suddenly silent.

“Hear that?”  Pointed ears perked, she glanced over her shoulder, keeping tight hold of the hot iron in her hand.  She wasn’t big – bigger than any man for sure, but not large for an orc – but she was fast, and in her hands even this tawdry weapon could do some damage against most enemies.

“Hear what?” Tudra, half asleep beside her on the ground, snorted.  “Don’t hear nothin’.”

She kicked his foot.  “That’s my point!”  He shook a little, mostly asleep.  She’d been letting him slack off behind her desk.  He was tiny, smaller than her, and most of the bigger orcs put him to work on tasks no one wanted to do, if he was around.  She knew most orcs would shun her for it, but she pitied him.  He was a quick hand with a keen eye, just not very strong was all.

Finally he seemed to realize she was serious, and he stood, withdrawing his crossbow. 

The screams erupted suddenly.  Violent, angry, anguished and choked with blood.  Magrud’s heart jumped, and she grimaced as she ran from the tent.

The camp was in chaos.  Bodies strewn all about, flame spread through the tents and flags, swords and iron clashing all around.  The source of the action was not an army of invaders or a wild pack of beasts – it was but one man.  Magrud almost laughed, before she saw him vanish, and reappear a distance away with his sword imbedded in an orc’s head.

_  
Witchcraft!_  

“We have to go,” Fighting was no longer an option.  She wasn’t afraid to fight, but this wasn’t a battle, it was a massacre.  Even the captain, a years old veteran who’d trained her from her youth, was struggling to keep up with this stranger in black who shone with blue light when he moved.  “Come on, Tudra, this way!” 

They ran, leapt over bodies without looking to see if they were alive, or known to them, skirted around the camp and away from the massacre behind them, but it was not far enough.  Tudra shrieked when the _tark_ suddenly descended from the air overhead, landing with a bright blue flash that blinded them.  Instinctually, Magrud grabbed Tudra and dragged him behind her, lifting her iron high.

“Run!”  She screamed, and he stood in shocked horror, barely hearing her.  “Tudra! I said run, _shrack_!”

“W – What?  I’m not –“ Terror weakened his voice and he was staring at the man, not at her.  He wasn’t a warrior.  He really should have been born as something other than an orc.

Moving to stand in front of him, she took her place between the threat and the only orc she ever considered something like a friend.  If orcs could have friends.  “You want ‘em,” She spat, “You’ll have to gut me first, pinkskin!”

But the strange thing was, the man’s sword was lowered, now.  He was staring too, with something like surprise in his gaze.  It threw her off, but Magrud grunted, and glanced back to see if Tudra was listening to her.  Of course he wasn’t.  Furious, she raced at him, with all the battle fury she could muster.

“I said RUN!” 

He stumbled in fear, finally looking at her, before Tudra bolted across camp.  Magrud turned to face her death, satisfied that at least she’d die for a purpose, and Tudra would live.

But the _tark_ was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Talion sat watching at a distance, in a crouch in the shadows. 

‘You should not have left survivors.’

He felt Celebrimbor’s shade lingering at his shoulder.  He didn’t heed the words.  Instead, he stared with a furrowed brow, as the orc he’d faced sought out the one who’d run away, and looked almost… relieved, to see him safe.

It didn’t make sense.

He’d always been taught that orcs were tormented, violent creatures, created from torture and darkness and capable of nothing but evil.  That was the truth he’d known his whole life.  Yet now, that solid fact, which stood behind so many of his actions, had a little crack in its surface.  He’d just seen an orc willingly choose to give their life, so that another of their kind could live.

For he’d seen it in the orc’s eyes – they hadn’t planned on being able to survive the encounter.

‘Don’t tell me you pity them.’

Standing, Talion turned to the elf.  “Not pity,” He shook his head.  “I don’t think.  I suppose…”

These past weeks, he had been sneaking through the shadows, hovering outside of sight.  Watching, waiting, listening.  And he had seen sides of these orcs he’d never seen before, heard things he couldn’t have imagined – he now knew things he’d never had the chance to know before.

And this… this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Are orcs truly only evil?”  Talion wondered aloud.  Celebrimbor scoffed.

‘Have you not seen for yourself the evil they are capable of?’

“Of course.”  His heart ached with sharp pangs at the thought.  “Only…”  Only, what?  He wasn’t sure.  He could not yet articulate what he was feeling, only… there was doubt.  Doubt he now felt behind the beliefs he’d held his whole life.

And it would change everything.

 

* * *

 

 

Five orcs sat round a campfire, late into the evening, far outside any fort.   They were loud, and raucous, and didn’t seem to fear drawing the attention of anything nearby.  Given the large Graug corpse near their camp, from which they were taking rations to roast upon the fire, their confidence was earned.  Still, they had no idea what lurked in the shadows.

Talion skirted the edges of their camp, trying to discern if one of them was a captain or if they had any information on them, before he took action.

The largest was nearly twice the breadth of a man, and two heads taller, brutal and covered in tattoos, scars, and piercings.  His helmet covered his eyes, and sharp fangs bit into the meat from the fire with ferocity.  Next to him was the smallest of the company, made tinier by comparison, a lithe archer with braided hair and silver jewelry in the braids. 

Next was an axe wielder, somewhat taller than Talion, with black paint on his face and spikes embedded in his scalp.  He was missing an eye, but hardly seemed bothered, and one arm ended in a metal contraption.  Beside him was a defender, stocky and covered in thick silver and red armor, bald with pierced ears. 

  
The last of them seemed to be a vassal or assistant of some sort, dressed in light clothes and barefoot, with his hair pulled to the top of his head.  

“So,”  The axe wielder began, swallowing a messy bite.  “What’s the first thing you’ll do when we win the war?”

A lot of chuckles and knowing groans filled the camp.  “Stop goin’ on about it.”  One said, shaking his head.

“Come on!  What else we got to do?”

“I’m game.”  The little assistant scooted forward, eager to be included.  “First thing… first thing…”  The orc crossed his arms.  “First thing, I’m gonna go into one of those tark settlements, and get me a fuzzy.”

A lot of groans and laughs came in reply.  “Of all the stupid -!  When’re you gonna stop goin’ on about those stupid shits?”

The defender looked confused.  “What’s that?”

“It’s this little beast the men have.  Tiny little caragor with fur.”  One of them explained.  “We saw some in Nurnen, in the villages, but they’re tough to catch.  Little buggers are faster than you’d think.”

“They look nice.”  The assistant grinned.  “And they’re violent little critters too, they’ve got some bite in ‘em!”

“What’re you gonna do, eat it?”

“NO!”  He sounded scandalized.  “… It’ll be my pet.”  That only brokered more groans.

“Dunno about you,” The largest one began.  “But I’m gonna be taking a long hard sleep.  And ain’t nobody, even the Dark Lord himself, is gonna wake me.  I’d done my part by then, yeah?  Fought my share.  And I am gonna go out to those green places past the mountains, find me a shady spot, and sleep.”

“None of you have any ambition!”  The axe man complained.  “The new Orc world is coming!  There’s cities to build, nations to tumble!”

“Eh,”  The big guy shook his head.  “I’ve seen plenty of cities and nations tumble.  What I’ve not seen, in a long time, is some damned rest.”

The axe man seemed to be in the minority – everyone else agreed with the big fellow.

“You ever try that sweet the southern men have?”  The archer started, sounding strangely subdued for the group.  “It’s brown and soft, comes in a bar, like a ration.  They make it outta some plant they’ve got down there.  I traded three short swords for just one bar, once.  Do it again in a heartbeat.”

“What’s it, meat?”

“No, it’s –“  He shook his head, struggling to explain.  “It’s real good though.”

“Enough dreaming.”  The defender shook his head.  “It’ll be long years before the war’s won, and we’ll all be corpses by the end of it.  Face the facts, boys.”  He stood, grabbing his shield.  “We are cogs in the Dark Lord’s war machine!  The best we have is to make a great end of it, because our end is coming all the same.”

Talion watched as the group cleaned up camp, and left; he never did move, or make to go after them.  He sat in the darkness for a long time, and he thought.

 

* * *

 

 

It all came apart when Talion came into a camp in the Udun Foothills, and saw a surprisingly familiar face. 

He hovered over the Caragor pens, positioned on a flag pole, and watched as the little orc that had fled from him before, was dragged forcibly into the pen.  He heard screaming – the other orc, the one who’d defended him, was being held back, forced to watch as the smaller one was tossed down into the pen.

The orc was cursing and screaming in Black Speech, and while Talion couldn’t understand the words, he certainly understood the meaning.  The little orc looked terrified, shaking as he tried to lift his crossbow.  The doors on the pens were about to open.  Talion’s heart leapt in his chest.  The doors were lifting, the orc was screaming so badly –

His body made his decision before his conscious mind had.  The moment the first Caragor leapt out of the cage and made for the orc, he had flashed into the arena, his sword embedded in the creature’s head.  There was more screaming then – battle screams, and terror, and shock and awe at his arrival.  The word Gravewalker echoed throughout the arena, as he took down Caragor after Caragor.

They were finally down, and the orc was on his back, shaking by the far wall, when Talion turned to look at him.  He hesitated for just a moment, before the other orcs began to storm into the arena for him.  Talion looked up, and saw the orcs holding the other one captive, and figured – in for a penny, in for a pound. 

He flashed again, shoving his blade into the belly of one of the guards, and the captive orc immediately slammed their fist into the other’s face.  Then, he took on the other defenders as they came, and almost instinctively the two fell into a pattern, fighting back to back.  The archer from the arena appeared too, eventually, though he clearly was at a disadvantage in such close quarters.  Talion finally made up his mind, and grabbed the little orc, throwing him over his shoulders.

“Come on!”  He shouted to the other one, and was somewhat surprised when they followed him, and the three barreled out of camp, into the darkness.

Some hours later, all three collapsed in a clearing, coming down from the battle high and the run they’d made afterwards.  Talion stood at some distance from the orcs, still not sure of his own reception, and respectful of their space.  The bigger one hadn’t stopped watching him, the little one stilled seemed shaken by the night’s events.

“Why’d you do that?”

The orc’s voice was tremulous and low, commanding.  Talion turned to face them. 

“I’m not honestly sure I have an answer.”  He shrugged.  The truth was, he’d acted on impulse.

‘The answer is supreme stupidity.’  Celebrimbor scowled at his side, yet his tone of voice was quiet, almost contemplative, if still caustic as usual.  Talion glanced his way and saw a thoughtful look on the wraith’s face.

“Thank you… thank you…”  The little orc finally stood, leaning on his knees.  “I don’t care if you’re a man or an elf or a damned Nazgul, thank you.”

The bigger one seemed to come to a realization of their own.  “Yeah,” They said finally, turning to Talion.  “Thanks.”

After a moment, he nodded.  “You’re welcome.”  Then he asked, “What will you do now?”

The big one shrugged.  “Dunno.  Can’t go back.  Word’ll spread soon.”  The terror returned to the other’s face.

“Oh _shrack_ … they’ll skin us alive!”  He shivered.  “Put maggot holes in us and feed us our own entrails!  Just for starters!”

“You could…” Talion hesitated, stopping before he started.  “Nevermind.”

“What?”

Sighing, he turned to look at them.  “My name is Talion, ranger of the Black Gate.  Formerly.”  Both orcs recognized the title and the implications.  “Orcs are not my enemy.  Sauron is my enemy, and I will not rest until I have removed every stain he has left upon Mordor.  If you would be willing to forsake the Dark Lord… I would provide you with refuge.”

He was shocked the words made it out of his mouth.  Moreso, Talion was shocked when they said yes.

 

* * *

 

It was a fluke that kept happening. 

First was Magrud and Tudra, the odd duo he rescued from certain death, and took in to his measly shelter of caves to the north of the Black Road.  They were both thrilled to be away from the camps, and seemed lighter for it, to his surprise.  They weren’t at all bothered by giving up the Dark Lord or taking orders from a Man, in fact, they seemed to take his orders as requests they were good enough to indulge.  As if he was someone they had to care for, rather than they being his wards!

“You idiot,” Magrud clicked her tongue and forced him to sit on the nearest flat surface.  “You’re dead, not immortal.  Do you want to bleed out?”

“I’ll be fine,” He forced himself to say.  The blood on his teeth made it somewhat hard to believe.  “I told you, those should be reserved for emergencies.”

“What’d you call this?”  Tudra snorted as he approached with bandages.  “A picnic?”

“I’ll heal.  Celebrimbor –“

“Your Fairy Elfmother can have the night off.”  Magrud sneered as she pulled the torn fabric out of his wounds.  “What’d you do, run full on at a Graug?”

“It was a troll.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s much better.”

Celebrimbor, unbeknownst to the elves, watched all this in contemplative silence.

It had only been a week since the orcs joined them, and already so much had changed.  They’d learned that orcs did, in fact, have ‘women’, as Men would know them, - but orcs themselves recognized no difference.  Their language had no gendered words, which was why all orcs referred to themselves and their brethren as masculine.  But Magrud had breasts, and could bear children, which Talion didn’t even know was possible for orcs.

“It’s rare,” She’d told him tersely, and he’d known better than to press at that.

They’d also learned, from first hand experience, that orcs were apparently mother hens as well.  Talion heard Celebrimbor chuckle, and realized the elf must’ve caught some of his thoughts.

“That’ll do for now,” Magrud sighed, wiping Talion’s blood off on his raggedy clothes.

“Thanks,” He grunted.

“A pleasure,” She retorted dryly, as she stood.  “Find anything useful out there?”

_Orcs.  You’re in charge, but they’ll rarely act like it._

 

* * *

 

The story of the orcs who worked with the Ranger spread like wildfire.

Some took it as vicious rumor, some as strange witchcraft, others as wild speculation.  But two orcs certainly had vanished that day, and it had appeared as if the ranger showed up just to save them.

What did it mean?  And where had they gone?

More rumors started to spread.  Of how the Gravewalker worked, and what he did.  How he often left servant orcs and menial workers alone.  How he targeted the Dark Lord’s works above all else, and struggled most with his loyal servants and devoted followers.  That it seemed that the man did not target orcs, in general… but specific orcs, who would stand between him and Sauron.

And not every orc was ready or willing to do that.

“Why the hell should we?”  The smallest orc of the five sneered.  “Gruza’s a little bitch.  Let him bite it.”

“He’s a bitch, but he’s our bitch.”  The defender retorted.  “You want to let a measly _tark_ take out an orc?”

“If he can do it, let him!  Clearly Gruza’s not up to snuff if the _tark_ can take him out!”

“Haven’t you heard?”  The axe man said.  “He’s no ordinary _tark_.  He’s a wraith.  Like the Nazgul, you know?  Can’t kill him, not forever.  Always comes back."

“That’s graug shit.”  Another of the five laughed.

“It’s true!  Tzurak killed him, and only a day later he was back and putting steel in the orc’s neck!”

“Tzurak was an idiot, and probably killed a different tark, and nobody was payin’ attention to which it was.”

“Really?  I dunno…”

“Shut yer yaps.”  The big one finally said.  “Our job’s to defend Gruza, so we defend Gruza.”

Behind them, a bright flash of blue light flared in the fortress, and the five as one reacted with shock.  A scream was suddenly cut off with bloodied gurgles, and died.

“Welp,” The assistant muttered.  “Job’s done, I think.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Talion came back to the cave and found that the number of orcs inside had changed, he panicked somewhat.

‘Calm down,’ Celebrimbor muttered into his ear.  ‘I hardly believe the tailor and the feeble archer are mounting a rebellion to take your cave.’ 

Still… years of anger and hate had him suddenly wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake, if he was about to be betrayed, to walk into a trap… and he found, to his surprise, that the feeling he felt most at the thought was sorrow.  Sorrow at the thought of being betrayed, by Magrud and Tudra, who had become something like companions in this lonely, shadowed place.

He arrived to find the campfire burning, and three more orcs sitting around it.  They all stiffened as one, even as Tudra turned to face Talion.

“Oh, hello,” He grinned, between bits of meat.  “Look!  Our army grows vast!”  Magrud cuffed him on the back of the head.

“The idiot means, we found these three wandering, and took ‘em in.”  She looked a little hesitant.  “Know I should have asked, first.”  But he could tell why she didn’t – one was brutally wounded, and seemed to have pulled through by the skin of his teeth.  The other two looked shaken.  “They’re alright. I’ll vouch for ‘em.”

Sighing, Talion approached and took a seat.  “If I wake up with a knife in my back, I’m coming back for you Magrud.”

The orc just laughed at that.

 

* * *

 

It kept happening.  Sometimes, Talion would bring someone back – rarely was he asked by an orc, but he could often tell who in the camp was in danger, who was ostracized, who was the most open to the idea of leaving Sauron’s army.  Many of them followed him back, and he always knew and kept watch on them, but most seemed to be nervous escapees, trying to find a better life. 

At first, they were all servants, many former slaves before the humans were enslaved, or those whose battle prowess left something to be desired.  Before long the cave system was alive and filled with more than a few dozen orcs, all of whom looked to him for leadership and guidance.

It was bizarre.

Yet, Talion could not say he loathed the change in his situation.  In all this darkness, he had found a strange sort of companionship with these folks.  People who, some might say, had suffered worst at the Dark Lord’s hands than most.  Talion wouldn’t have always said that, but he’d seen enough now, and he understood.  The orcs were as much the Dark Lord’s victims as anyone.

They weren’t all victims, though.  There were plenty who reveled in the darkness, who willingly worshipped Sauron, who desired domination and destruction as much as their Lord.  Most of those were the especially strong, who were best suited by the power structure to benefit from it. 

It continued this way for some time, until Talion arrived at an orc camp to an odd sight.

There was a pike standing outside camp, with a dead orc’s head on it.  Not so strange.  What was odd, was that the orc was the very same captain Talion had been hunting, and behind it, stood five orc warriors of varying heights and sizes.

“Got ‘em for you,”  The axe man, in the center, began with a shrug.  “Figured we’d make your life a little easier, eh?”

“Most of the camp was for it.”  The big guy laughed.  “He was a prig.  Never did like him much.”

“We kicked out the ones who weren’t with us.  I mean, mostly kicked.  Killed some.  Some got away.”  The little one prattled on.

“Point is, the only orcs left in this camp are the ones who are pretty tired of this _shrack_ ,” The axe man approached, and Talion watched him warily, his hand near his sword.  “We know what you’re doin’.  Fighting Sauron, taking his armies.  Doing a pretty good job of it too.  Still say you’re fucked and so are the rest of the idiots with ya…”  Then, he shrugged.  “But looks like we’re throwin’ our lot in, too.  We’re gonna go out either way, yah?  Might as well fuck up that one-eyed bastard’s shit before we go."

And the orc saluted him, in the orcish style – which involves a lot of yelling and chest bumping – and Talion stood in shock as more than a hundred orcs suddenly joined what was becoming quite the movement.

Before he even knew it, Talion had an army. 

 

* * *

 

 

The five called themselves the Brotherhood, and they were a group of orcs who’d fought and hunted together since they were created.  Four of them were born of the same batch, and the youngest was from the next. 

The big guy was named Bruiser, given his size and great talent with his fists.  He was quiet, reserved, and tended to spend his day loafing when he could.  The axe wielder was Unkanthu, a much more active and violent character, who would expend his energy tearing away at things with his weapons if there was nothing else to do. 

The defender, Oglib, took to leading the orcs instinctively, something Talion was immensely greatful for.  He was a warrior and commander – not a mayor.  He’d never been in charge of logistics or domestic concerns at the Black Gate, and now he suddenly had to worry about food, shelter, and clothes for more than one hundred and fifty orcs.  Oglib took to it with splendor, and seemed to have a strange love for order, precision, and paperwork.

The assistant was named Dughrut, a servant who had been adopted into the group and trained to fight.  Apparently he’d been won in a game of cards as a slave, but had been immediately treated as an equal among them.  He was young, eager to please, and a bit of a dullard, but kind hearted, for an orc.  The last was the archer, Turug, a taciturn female orc who preferred action to words.

With these five, Talion suddenly found himself with captains, and leaders, for an army he didn’t even realize he had.

‘This is the beginning of something,’ Celebrimbor told him one night.  ‘We cannot remain here any longer.  The caves are not easily defended, and this large of a presence will be noticed, soon.’

“And where can we go?”  Sighing, Talion sat down nearby.  “This is ridiculous.  I am just one man, fighting an army’s fight, and these people cannot fight it with me!”

‘Why can’t they?’  Celebrimbor approached and sat beside him.  ‘Queen Marwen certainly thinks they could.’

Talion scoffed.  ‘The Queen – or rather, Saruman – would have me enter their minds and possess them.  Am I to follow in the Dark Lord’s example?  Shall I rule them as he rules others through the rings?”

‘It seems you will not have to.’  The elf murmured.  ‘It seems, they follow you whether you would will it, or not.’

“Talion?”

Turning, the man saw Magrud standing in the doorway.  “Talkin’ to your elf again?”

The man nodded.  “Yes.”  He sighed, and turned his head.  “We’re going to have to move camp.”

“No worries.”  She told him.  “Ratbag found an old fort that’s been left off for a while.  We can use it.”

Good old Ratbag.  One of the first orcs he’d ever really seen as… as a person.  When had this happened?  How had this all come to be?  A year ago, this would all have been a fanciful dream – or nightmare.  Being possessed by a wrath, his family murdered, and he befriending the race of those who murdered them.

_Orcs didn’t murder them_ , he reminded himself.  _The Black Numenoreans did.  The Black Hand.  Do not spread your anger and grief to the innocent._  

To think, he could comprehend of innocent orcs now.

The orcs were all too willing to turn their craft to work against the Dark Lord.  Many volunteered to sneak back into camps, and infiltrate the guards of captains and warchiefs.  Some volunteered to try and find intel, and spy for information.  Others yet were hunting for food and gear, supplying the rest.  Before long everyone had a roll they were falling into, in this makeshift army.

They were progressing, despite all odds.  Closer and closer he came to finding the ones responsible, and taking his vengeance. 

The conversation he’d overheard ages ago came to Talion suddenly, the one the Brotherhood had, about what they would do after the war. 

He thought about himself, and wasn’t sure what the answer was.

 

* * *

 

Talion never meant for any of this to happen.

Of course, no one means for the bad things in our lives.  But the events that came afterwards, the great and massive changes, were completely outside his domain.  He’d only ever acted as he believed was best, and somehow, it became this.  By the time he killed the Black Hand, almost five hundred orcs were working with or taken shelter with him, fighting Sauron.  He’d killed many more, tearing apart the Dark Lord’s armies, taking out their leaders.  While he knew that Nurnen and the Black Gate were but small pieces of greater Mordor, they had made such great progress as of late.

He stands upon the gate, Celebrimbor at his side, shaking and exhilarated and shocked and still numb to all the pain and feeling of the last hours.  The elf approached him, cautiously.

‘The Hither Shore is calling us.’

The hurts and pains of the hour’s revelations were still there, but they were dulled by their victory, torn from the jaws of defeat.  The Black Hand was dead, Ioreth and Dirhael were avenged, and Celebrimbor was back at his side.  Even after everything… he was glad, that the elf was alright.

“Could you really rest for all eternity, knowing you had the chance to stop him, and you did nothing?”

There was really nothing to say to that.  Talion knew it, knew the answer even as Celebrimbor knew Talion’s answer.  They were one.  And so, being one, Celebrimbor knew that though Talion was still pained by the knowledge of his betrayal – he understood, and had forgiven him.

They stood upon a precipice – armed with power beyond belief, and the chance to do something no one ever had.  The orcs could turn upon Sauron, of their own free will.  Given the choice, given the slim chance that there might be a life outside his dominion, so many of them turned from the Dark Lord’s side, and joined them.  How many more might join in the days to come?  How much could they take from the Dark Lord?

They could do it.  Celebrimbor, Talion, and the orcs of Mordor.  They could make Mordor bright again.  They could – they would stop Sauron.  And then… and then, the orcs would be free, and Talion would rest.


End file.
